


Gridlock

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: "a very inebriated Adam desperate for a piss and an oddly sober Tommy very turned on by Adam's whimpering and squirming. Author's choice if Adam makes it to the bathroom or not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gridlock

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is dedicated to the lovely person who asked me to fill this prompt in exchange for a $50 donation to charity: water. They have asked to remain anonymous, but you know who you are! I hope you enjoy this, and thank you so much for your generosity!
> 
> A/N the second: So if Slipping Under was me writing the happy light version of watersports, this is its darker companion. The original prompt in full really made me want to include some humiliation kink. I would say again that this is really very mild as far as the kink goes, but it definitely has bits of darkness.

The phone rings sometimes after midnight, and Tommy almost doesn't answer it, caught up in taking head shots at zombies. At the last second, he throws the controller down on the couch next to him and snatches up the phone with a huff. When he sees the name flashing LCD bright in the darkness, though, the game is forgotten completely, and he could kick himself for not answering faster.

“Adam? Hey, what's up?”

All that comes through the line at first is giggling – _drunken_ giggling, tinny and small in exactly the way it isn't in person. Tommy can't help laughing himself – Adam's moods, be they good or bad – are always infectious.

“You ok, man?” Tommy asks.

“Oh, Tommy Tommy Tommy Joe, I am _good,”_ Adam replies, the words slurring together. “Except...I think my ride left without me.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, but there's a smile on his face as he does. “Where you at?” he asks, faux exasperated, and he can hear the grin in Adam's voice as he gives him vague directions.

When Tommy hangs up and looks back at the TV, it's sitting on the “game over” screen, but he can't quite bring himself to care.

*

Adam's stuck in a crush of people, the center of attention, as ever. Tommy pushes his way through the party and gets right up in Adam's face, on the opposite side of where Adam's hanging all over a pretty little Asian boy who has dark eyeliner and gravity-defying hair and looks like he's just stepped out of an anime.

Tommy pokes Adam in the arm none-too-gently. It takes a second, but finally Adam turns his head and notices him. His eyes are still dark and heavy-lidded, intense, clearly still set in the seductive look he'd been using on the boy. But the instant he recognizes Tommy, that look falls away, leaving Adam bright and animated and grinning, life-of-the-party Adam instead of hey-let's-go-back-to-my-place Adam. For a second, Tommy feels a little weird about knowing those looks so well (and who is he kidding, he knows those and a thousand more – he speaks the language of Adam's face), and then he has his hands full with a very happy, very drunken Adam, falling – literally, falling – into his arms.

“My knight in shining armor!” Adam cries, laughing at himself as he says it. Tommy hugs him back, a happy warm feeling growing in his chest as he does. Adam has always had the best hugs. Over Adam's shoulder, Tommy can see the pretty boy, the expression on his face quickly falling. He meets the guy's eyes and gives him a little shrug, eyebrows raised. The guy looks disappointed (yeah, who wouldn't be?), but he just shrugs back and disappears into the crowd, and Tommy has to give him points for knowing when to back off.

Adam's still hugging him and apparently has no plans to let go any time soon. Tommy wriggles his way out of Adam's grip as far as he can and leans back to look at his face. “Ready to go?” he asks.

Adam nods. “Thanks for coming. You're _so_ nice, Tommy. Nice nice boy.”

Tommy just laughs. “Dude, how much have you had?”

Adam gets a mischievous little smirk on his face, and his eyes go wide and innocent. “I dunno...” he hedges, and the end of it descends into another giggle.

Tommy grabs his hand and starts leading him through the crowd. “I bet I know what you're ready for,” he calls back over his shoulder. “Tea and then bed.”

Adam's overly-excited “Oh!” at the prospect of hot tea and soft sheets echoes over the noise of the party, and Tommy grins. Oh yeah. He _knows_ that boy.

They get outside, to the cool air and blissful silence, and Tommy opens the passenger-side door for Adam before walking around and getting in himself. That little move earns him another smirk and a flirty comment about how he's “such a gentleman,” to which Tommy snorts through his nose and says, “Really? A gentleman? _Me?”_

Adam reconsiders as Tommy starts the car. “Ok, maybe just for me. I'm _special.”_

And now Tommy has to focus on driving, so he throws his iPod into Adam's lap and tells him to pick him something. That should keep him busy for a bit.

For a while they're moving right along down the road, Adam flipping through Tommy's library and singing along way too loud (and still perfectly on pitch, somehow, talented bastard). And then they run right up against a sea of red lights, and the cars behind them pull up and block them in, and before Tommy can even react, they're completely stuck in standstill traffic.

“Fuck,” Tommy mutters under his breath, and Adam hears and looks up, takes in the situation.

“Accident, you think?” he asks.

“Probably,” Tommy replies. He twists around and around in his seat, looking for a way to turn off or turn around, but there's nothing, just cars on every side. He sighs and puts the car in park. “I guess we're waiting.”

He looks over to Adam, who's got an absolutely stricken look on his face. “Hey, what's wrong?” he asks.

“I'm sorry – this is my fault. I should have left when Evan did. Then you wouldn't have had to deal with this,” Adam says, sounding morose.

And Tommy just can't have that. “Don't worry about it. I don't mind. It's worth it for the free concert alone!” he jokes, and Adam laughs a little and starts singing again, much quieter this time. He's starting to sober up a little, and Tommy narrows his eyes in frustration at the cars in front of them. Would have been such perfect timing, too – he should be handing Adam a cup of scalding hot herbal something-or-other right now, not sitting here breathing exhaust fumes and squinting in the harsh red light.

Five minutes go by. Seven. Ten, and they still haven't moved. Car horns are starting to ring out around them, the impotent squawking of impatient LA drivers. Tommy thumps his head back against the seat and thinks about all the things he'd rather be doing. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Adam moving, an uncomfortable stealthy move that looks like Tommy probably wasn't supposed to see it. He doesn't turn his head, just watches with his peripheral vision as Adam does it again, kind of a slow-motion squirm. A tiny noise accompanies it, more just a rush of air than anything, and finally Tommy looks over and asks, “Adam? You ok?”

“Just really gotta pee. Shouldn't have had that last drink,” Adam says, forcing a laugh that sounds completely fake to Tommy's ears.

Tommy glances around again. Nothing but bright lights and pavement, and probably a zillion camera phones. Nowhere to go. “Well...I'm sure we'll start moving again soon.”

“We fuckin' better.”

The minutes tick away on the clock, and the music clicks over to the next song, and now Adam's rocking in the seat, a tiny constant motion that totally ignores the beat of the song, setting its own rhythm. Tommy alternates between watching him and looking out the window, trying in vain for a better view at whatever's holding them up.

Barely audible over the sound of the music, he hears the snick of a button, the rough slide of a zipper, and when he glances over again, Adam's tight black jeans are half-undone. His eyes are shut tight and his jaw clenched even tighter, and Tommy can't help himself – he glances down at the tiny bit of revealed skin at the bottom of Adam's belly, imagines he can see a little bit of a bulge there, the skin tight and distended. And suddenly things are starting to get a little tight and uncomfortable for him, too, for a very different reason. He looks up to make sure Adam's eyes are still closed, and, seeing that they are, presses a hand down into his own lap, shifts around in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure on his quickly hardening cock.

He barely has time to get his hands back on the wheel before Adam's eyes are open again, and _fuck,_ Adam looks absolutely miserable, his eyes starting to tear up, his mouth set in a hard unhappy line, and Tommy feels a deep wave of guilt go through him, that he could even _think_ of being turned on when his friend is so obviously upset.

“Adam?”

 _“What?”_ It's quick and harsh, and Adam has never snapped at him that way before. Tommy can hear the desperation in his voice.

“It's ok.”

Adam doesn't answer, just clenches his hands into fists, so tight he's probably leaving bruises, and drives them down hard into his thighs.

“I...” Tommy starts, but Adam talks over him.

 _“Fuck,_ Tommy, I can't...”

The words cut off with a gasping whine, and Adam shuts his eyes and grimaces as a tiny little wet spot blooms on his jeans, darkening the black even further before Adam's able to gain control over himself again.

Adam's face is burning bright red, and not just from the tail lights shining at them. He groans deep as the faint unmistakeable smell of ammonia drifts through the car. He's rocking again, pressing both hands down hard into his lap, and words spill out of his mouth in a torrent.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Tommy, I couldn't hold it anymore, fucking _hurts,_ not gonna make it much longer, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”

And Tommy can't help it – for a second all he can think about is how beautiful Adam is, head thrown back against the seat, pants halfway-undone and inching lower with every movement, hands groping at himself, all that desperation and humiliation written on his face for anyone to see. There's a dark, hungry voice inside him that's urging him to just let it happen, and oh yes, his cock likes that _very_ much, the thought of Adam losing all control, defeated by his own body, all that spreading warmth and wetness getting all over his cock and legs and jeans and the seat under him too, so that Tommy could heard the wet squelching sound every time Adam moved for the rest of the way home (and _wow,_ ok, apparently this kink doesn't give a fuck about gender. Interesting).

But in the next second, Tommy remembers who he's thinking about, remembers that this is _Adam,_ and he would never do anything to hurt him if he could help it, would probably take a fucking bullet for the guy if it came down to it. Unbuckling his seat belt, he turns and roots around in the back seat, hoping.

Finally, his hand lands on what he's searching for, and he pulls it out of the junk and turns around again to eye it – a large plastic takeout cup, still with its lid and straw. He chuckles a little to himself at the ridiculousness of it (sloppiness and junk food, good for something after all!) and then turns, offering the cup to Adam with his eyebrows raised.

Adam freezes. “You're kidding me.”

“Dude, I'm not seeing another option.”

There's a second of silence. Then Adam groans deep in his throat and grabs the cup, tearing at the lid of it and fumbling with his pants at the same time, muttering under his breath, something about not having enough hands for this.

Tommy reaches over and snatches the cup back, gets the lid off while Adam pulls out his cock (and holy _shit,_ there's Adam's cock, and it's not like Tommy hasn't seen it before, but not like this, not right in his fucking face). He hands the lidless cup back and Adam squirms into position, trying to find a workable one. Finally, he gets himself lined up, and Tommy bites his lip and waits...but nothing happens. He looks back to Adam's face and sees him strung tight as a guitar string, still fighting for control.

“Adam,” Tommy says softly, firmly.

Adam turns his head against the seat, blinks his eyes open, forces himself to meet Tommy's eyes.

“It's just me. Just...let go.”

And finally, finally, Adam lets out all the breath in his body, lets out all that tension, releases that iron-clad control...and Tommy hears the dull splash of liquid against plastic. Adam's eyes practically roll back in his head in relief, and his lips curl around a moan that – kink be damned – is just blatantly _sexual._

Tommy knows he should look away, but Adam's not paying him a bit of attention, lost in long-awaited relief...so he watches, lets his eyes travel down Adam's body, and he can't see much, just Adam's hand holding his soft cock, aiming into the cup, but it's still one of the hottest fucking things Tommy's ever seen.

Finally, the sound fades away, and Adam comes back to himself a little, blinks and looks around awkwardly, holding the cup away from him like he's got no idea what to do with it.

“Here.” Tommy reaches out and grabs it away, careful not to spill. Fantasies are one thing, but he would really rather not have his car smell like piss tomorrow. He cracks open the door and empties the cup onto the asphalt, then throws it back into the back seat.

Adam's still working his pants back on when he turns back around, but he glances over at Tommy with the smallest hint of a smile and says, “Such an animal, throwing trash everywhere.”

“Lucky for you!” Tommy fires back, and just like that they're back to normal again, like nothing's happened.

A horn blares behind them, and Tommy looks up to see that the cars are moving again.

Adam throws his hands into the air. “Oh of course, _now_ we can go,” he says, sounding deeply, deeply annoyed.

And Tommy can't help bursting out laughing, and then Adam's laughing with him, and they're on their way home again.

Tommy drops Adam off at his door. Before Adam goes, he turns one last time and looks at Tommy, completely serious, completely sober.

“Thank you. For...everything. You're a really good friend, Tommy.”

And Tommy just has really no idea how to respond to that, so he just nods and gives Adam what he hopes comes across as a friendly smile.

Later, in his own bed, the sheets tossed haphazardly around him, Tommy strokes himself rough and desperate and thinks about what a good friend he really, really isn't.


End file.
